


A Little Bit Harmful for Me

by ohohpierre



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Grantaire is a jerk at times, M/M, Misunderstandings, Protest-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8541625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohohpierre/pseuds/ohohpierre
Summary: “Grantaire.”“We can talk about this later.”“You said my words.”“And you’ve said mine. We both know what this means. It’s a conversation for another day.” “This is important.” Grantaire finds himself uncomfortable under the eyes of his friends who are looking at him with an equal mixture of awe and what looks to be sympathy. “This doesn’t change anything. Your opinion of me is unwavering.” Grantaire revels slightly in the fact that he has made Enjolras inarticulate, but it is short-lived. “I refuse to be your obligation.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> (soulmate au)
> 
> This took fucking forever to write. I am proud however, because this is the longest oneshot I've written. 
> 
> Shoutout to @war-boyfriends on tumblr for being an awesome friend.

Grantaire knows the second he speaks to Enjolras that he’s made a mistake.

He’s sitting in his spot at the back table of the Musain, a bottle in his hands and he’s fidgeting with his sleeves. He’s exhausted, and he certainly looks the part. The words on his wrist have been tingling all night, and he tries to ignore the feeling. He’s content with listening to Enjolras speak, nitpicking the arguments in his head between his sips of wine. Bahorel notices, but Grantaire waves him away, feigning his exhaustion as the only problem.

Jehan nudges his hands away from his wrist when Grantaire starts rubbing at the words that sit there. “You’re anxious.”

“Hmm.” Jehan sighs, and grabs Grantaire’s hand so that he can try to ground himself. “I’m always anxious.”

“More so than usual.”

“I’m fine.” Grantaire rubs his thumb along Jehan’s wrist before he switches to bouncing his leg. He can’t stop moving his body. Bahorel sighs, holding onto Grantaire’s other hand. “The wine’s gone to my brain.” Eponine, noticing his agitation, speaks in a low voice.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No.”

He normally doesn’t speak up during the meetings, preferring to keep to himself as he listens to the speakers at the front. Most nights, it’s Enjolras at the lead, words dripping with inspiration and righteous fury. Most nights, Grantaire can’t take his eyes, or thoughts, off of him. Most nights, he drinks himself into a stupor in an attempt to silence everything for a little while.

Grantaire had not noticed Enjolras beginning to walk towards him. He realizes belatedly that Enjolras has never spoken directly to him.

“Then perhaps you should put the bottle away and join in on the conversation.” The tone itself is not overly harsh – it does sting – but it's the words that are what make Grantaire stop. He sees Jehan look down at his wrist to where Enjolras’ words are written in his clumsy handwriting. He can hear his heart beating in his ears because _of course it’s him._ Grantaire keeps his thoughts of inadequacy to himself as he allows himself to speak.

“You would simply loathe the opinions I would have to offer tonight.”

“Grantaire – “ Eponine begins, but trails off as she turns to face Enjolras.

Enjolras has turned still, his face a slightly pale pallor, and now the room is looking towards the exchange. Grantaire sees and unreadable expression on Enjolras’ face, and his mind immediately goes to “disappointment”. He begins to gather his things; he’d rather not deal with this tonight.

“Grantaire.”

“We can talk about this later.”

“You said my words.”

“And you’ve said mine. We both know what this means. It’s a conversation for another day.” He doesn’t have much with him tonight, so he begins to stand, jacket in hand.

“This is important.” Grantaire finds himself uncomfortable under the eyes of his friends who are looking at him with an equal mixture of awe and what looks to be sympathy. He glances over to were Courfeyrac is sitting, and he finds a grin on the man’s face that disappears when he makes eye contact.

“This doesn’t change anything. Your opinion of me is unwavering.” Grantaire revels slightly in the fact that he has made Enjolras inarticulate, but it is short-lived. He doesn’t want to be standing here much longer, and he knows that Enjolras is likely to follow him once he leaves. He’s tired; he’s most certainly not in the mood to be around people. “I refuse to be your obligation.”

Satisfied with his final parting words, Grantaire wraps his jacket around him, and walks out the door, Enjolras at his heels.

&

“Grantaire, please don’t run away from me.” Grantaire has picked up his pace, his hands in his pockets, and he could feel his body shaking. He wants to fidget with his fingers, and he would have if it weren’t for the cold. “ _Grantaire_.”

“I’m not running. I’m walking home. I’m not in the mood to do this tonight.” Enjolras catches up to Grantaire’s stride and falls into step with him. “Please.”

“You’re never going to be in the mood to do this. I know you.”

“If you knew me, then you wouldn’t be fighting against me for trying to leave.” Grantaire stops walking, and looks at the ground. Enjolras stands in front of him, a familiar look of determination on his face.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Enjolras has crossed his arms over his chest, and Grantaire knows he’s expecting an answer. He’s expecting Grantaire to take part in this conversation. He has a lot of faith in Grantaire when he should have none. Grantaire stays silent. “I know you have a low opinion of yourself, but you have to know that the others don’t. You have to know that _I_ don’t.”

Grantaire scoffs. “The words on my wrist beg to differ. As do your actions and thoughts towards me. You’ve never shown any interest in me before.” Grantaire rolls up his sleeve, revealing his words, and Enjolras steps forward to take a closer look. He looks like he wants to reach out towards him, and Grantaire moves his arm closer. Enjolras grabs his wrist, and runs his thumb over the words that line Grantaire’s skin. He hides a shiver. His observation is left unanswered. He doesn’t mind.

“It’s even in my handwriting,” Enjolras says, and there’s a smile on his face, “I’m surprised you could read it.” Grantaire smiles, and reluctantly drops his arm.

“Can I see yours?” Grantaire asks carefully. Enjolras’ aren’t on his wrist, but on his forearm, and he rolls his sleeve up to reveal _“You would simply loathe the opinions I would have to offer tonight.”_ Unsurprisingly, the words are written in Grantaire’s handwriting, with all the flourishes of letters and dots.   

“Your handwriting is like calligraphy,” Enjolras says as Grantaire takes in the words. He hovers his hand over Enjolras’ arm, so he pulls Grantaire’s hand to gently touch his skin. It’s intimate, far too intimate, and even though he wants it, Grantaire pulls away all too quickly. He shakes his head at the man in front of him.

“I don’t- “and he can see that Enjolras is already mentally retreating in on himself. _Don’t break him. Don’t disappoint. He doesn’t want this._ He’s lying to himself; he wants this more than anything, but he can’t want it. He inhales. “I can’t want this.” He gestures to the space between the two of them, and catches himself. “I don’t want this.” Enjolras nods, understanding, and it takes everything within Grantaire not to lean forward and close the space between them. _Fuck._

“I’m not forcing you into anything,” he begins, and Grantaire notices that Enjolras has gone pale. _It’s not a good color on you._ “If you don’t think putting the effort into a relationship, platonic or romantic, is worth it, then we won’t. I’m not sure if I even want to.”

Enjolras steels himself, not waiting for a response from Grantaire, shutting his mouth to stop his speech. Grantaire hates what he’s done. Enjolras broadens his shoulders, and takes another deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire finds himself saying, filling the silence with something other than his heart beat and Enjolras’ heavy breathing.

“It’s fine,” Enjolras says casually, “I didn’t really want it either.” Grantaire can tell he’s holding back. There’s something he’s not saying. He wishes that Enjolras would yell at him. He has perfect reason to. At least it would feel familiar. Enjolras continues, “We didn’t exactly have a choice in this. It’s a system that relies on dubious consent. It doesn’t work for everyone.” Grantaire finds himself smiling, not surprised at Enjolras’ rant. Grantaire hates himself a little more. “Where does this leave us?” Grantaire stares at his shoes, and is truthful for the first time this night.

“We can be friends. This doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Good, because I don’t want it to.” They’re both quiet for a moment, and Enjolras, once again at a loss for words, offers his hand again. Grantaire shakes it.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, and walks off, hearing Enjolras behind him make his way back to the Musain.

&

Circumstances might have felt a little differently if they hadn’t started to avoid each other, whether it be out of fear, loathing, or embarrassment. Grantaire could feel himself becoming miserable, and in the back of his mind, he knew it was unfair to those around him. He had tended to overlook these moods, finding himself numb instead of in pain. Enjolras, on the other hand, would become quiet, for once keeping his opinions to himself. Together, these were a deadly combination. The meetings were quiet, and before, when quiet was few and far between, it was now stifling.

Despite his feelings towards the whole situation, Grantaire knew that he was the one to blame. He cut it off from the beginning in that hopes that, what? Enjolras wouldn’t be disappointed? That he wouldn’t be worthless in the face of something so full of potential? He knew his reasons were selfish in a way. He hadn’t wanted to hurt in the long run, but he was hurting now.

Grantaire had known that things couldn’t go back to normal, no matter how much or little he wished them to. His lingering glances during meetings no longer when unnoticed, and his impulse control was adapting each day to be stronger. He had read once when he was younger that a soulmate bond had a pull between the two or three people involved, making it easier for the two to find each other, and harder for the two to separate, essentially making the bond as permanent as possible. From what Grantaire could see, Enjolras wasn’t having much trouble keeping himself away, speaking occasionally to Grantaire, and never alone.

He slowly began to remove himself from the equation. Being the one to blame, he could feel the contempt the others felt for him. He knew they would never approach him directly; they still respected him, despite everything. They could see he was punishing himself enough. And Grantaire could see that his misery was slowly spreading from himself to his friends. It was unfair of him to subject his feelings onto the others. He placed the blame of the group’s failings onto himself, for no other reason than to validate his own feelings. In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t allowed this. He had brought this upon himself, and subsequently upon the others. His time with the group was swiftly coming to a close.

Enjolras, similarly, placed the blame upon himself as well. He was a man of responsibility, and to not take at least part of the blame would simply be unfair to Grantaire. However, unlike Grantaire, Enjolras could not as easily extricate himself from the group, nor would he want to. He saw the world through optimistic eyes, and if one thing could keep him from being completely miserable, it would be the chance to see change in the world. He had to actively fight against his own cynicism. Everything was slowly becoming quiet. 

The meetings, once full of laughter and ideals, had now become a hollow shell of what it had used to be.

&

When Combeferre and Courfeyrac finally approached him, the only thing about the situation that surprised Enjolras was that it had not come sooner.

“I don’t think you realize the impact you and Grantaire have on the morale of the group,” Combeferre began, knowing it best to get right to the point. Courfeyrac stayed still beside him, though the silence he held would not last long.

“I realize it now,” Enjolras says, “I wasn’t meaning to have it go this far- “

“Bullshit,” Courfeyrac starts, eyebrow quirked up, “You’re trying to put the group first, and your feelings second.”

“That’s something I’ve always done.”

“There’s something else about this,” Combeferre interrupts, “This isn’t just about soulmates. It’s more to do with you, isn’t it?”

Enjolras stood before the two men in front of him, feeling very much like a berated child, and in the back of his mind, he knew he was acting like such. Enjolras ran a hand through his hair before rubbing it over his face.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

Enjolras was stuck inside his own head, his thoughts overwhelming him. He knew he shouldn’t feel vulnerable for simply feeling; he was human. But nevertheless, he felt bare and far too open. _There’s too many things that could go wrong. You’re not good for him. You’re not good for yourself. You’re not a good person. You’re not good-_

“Enjolras.” He looked up at the sound of his name, his mind not quite breaking away from the thoughts of inadequacy. “Talk to him. Explain what you’re feeling. He’ll understand.”

“You don’t understand,” Enjolras had to suppress the urge to run his hands through his hair again. He sighs instead. “The love between the two of you is easy.” Enjolras pauses as Combeferre and Courfeyrac share a look. “It’s calm, it’s peaceful, it’s open, and it is how _love should be_. That’s not something that I can offer. I’m not a peaceful person. I am not open. And it’s not something I can just force myself to be.”

“You are capable of being that person,” Courfeyrac says slowly. Enjolras can tell that he wasn’t prepared for Enjolras being so defenseless.

“It’s different with you. I can bare myself because I know that I can. I know it’s welcome. There’s trust between us. I’ve know you forever.”

For once, Combeferre is silent as he listens to Enjolras. He rubs at his arm, and Enjolras knows that he’s touching the words – _“You’re so_ bright _. Who even are you?”_ – that run up and down his forearm. Courfeyrac notices, and grabs his arm. He speaks.

“Don’t let yourself be miserable just because you’re afraid to say what’s on your mind. You’ve never let that stop you before.”

“I know.”

Courfeyrac continues. “And, don’t be upset, but this isn’t just about you wither. Whether you like it or not, the two of you are soulmates.”

“I know.”

“You have to take his feelings into account as well.”

“I _know._ ” Courfeyrac sighs, and straightens.

“Talk to him,” he says with a note of finality. He turns, his arm wrapping around Combeferre’s waist, and they begin to leave. Enjolras sees the _“Bright? Have you seen yourself?”_ on the back of Courfeyrac’s neck. He wishes he had planned his own words better.

Everything feels different now.

&

 **(from: ep)** _i see what you’re doing._

 **(from: ep)** _you can’t keep doing this to yourself._

 **(to: ep)** _i’m dealing with this on my own terms_

 **(from: ep)** _this isn’t dealing and you know it._

 **(to: ep)** _i can’t do this_

 **(from: ep)** _nobody is asking you to. you don’t have to do this alone. you don’t have to pull away from your friends._

 **(to: ep)** _he doesn’t want me_

 **(from: ep)** _that doesn’t have to be the end of the world._

 **(to: ep)** _my mind is working against me_

 **(to: ep)** _why did it have to be him_

 **(to: ep)** _i’m not good enough for anybody but him especially_

 **(from: ep)** _oh r_

 **(from: ep)** _you’re worth so much more than you think._

 

Eponine begins to bring Grantaire back to the meetings, slowly at first. He doesn’t speak to Enjolras. He doesn’t deem himself suitable to.

&

Grantaire keeps to himself, drinking at the back table that has now been deemed his. Enjolras stays at the front, afraid of sparing Grantaire a glance.

Enjolras knows he is a difficult person, not easy to approach and not easy to understand. He doesn’t blame Grantaire for staying away, for being angry. They’re soulmates, and Enjolras can feel the bond between them. It’s unspoken at this point, Enjolras not wanting to act on his feelings. Grantaire deserves someone who can love unconditionally, someone who can offer more to a relationship that just camaraderie. He couldn’t help but steal a look at Grantaire sometimes; he felt he deserved something so trivial. Enjolras hadn’t noticed how lively Grantaire can be when he tries. On the rare occasions when he joins Joly and Bossuet to drink, he sees how easily Grantaire smiles, how carefree he laughs, how easily he touches his friends. Enjolras lives for the moments when Grantaire looks free.

Grantaire knows he is a difficult person, not easy to handle and not easy to love. He doesn’t blame Enjolras for not seeking him, or for ignoring him. Grantaire is angry at himself for being too much. He wants to act on his feelings, but Enjolras actively goes out of his way to ignore him. In a way, Grantaire is grateful that Enjolras is making it easier. Enjolras deserves someone who isn’t fucked up, someone who doesn’t need to get drunk most night just to sleep, someone righteous. He offers nothing more than a warm body. Enjolras barely looks at him, but there are moments where in his peripheral, Grantaire can see him glance at him, never for too long, before returning to what is important. He lives for the moments when he holds Enjolras’ attention.

The feelings don’t dwindle, for either Grantaire or Enjolras. Neither tells the other.

&

Marius had not been there on the night Enjolras had said Grantaire’s words. If he had, maybe he would have held his tongue.

He’s walked in late, not by much, but enough for attention to be drawn. It’s quiet for a moment before Jehan speaks.

“Marius?” they say, “Come, sit.” Marius is still, his cheeks flushed pink despite no wind outside. Grantaire knows what’s coming; He stares resolutely at the surface of the table, Eponine beside him.

“I’ve found her.” Around the room, the group collectively exhales. Grantaire grabs Eponine’s hand. “She actually said my words. She’s _beautiful_.”

“Our Marius is growing up,” Joly jokes, and offers a chair to Marius. “Who is she?” Marius fidgets, and keeps his eyes away from Eponine. Grantaire squeezes her hand.

“Cosette,” he says, and pulls his sleeve up to reveal the words, _“Are you okay? You look a bit overwhelmed.”_

Eponine takes it as her cue, grabs her jacket off the back of the chair, and walks out. No one notices. A minute later, Grantaire gets a text message.

 **(from: ep)** _i’m find don’t follow i’ll be okay_

He knows she’s lying, and makes a mental note to find her after the meeting.

“Of course your words would be about you being clumsy,” Bahorel laughs. Marius blushes again, and keeps touching the words on his arm. Grantaire finds himself touching his own, despite the tone that said them. A sense of want flourishes through his chest as he spares a glance at Enjolras, and finds him frowning.

And then Enjolras turns and catches Grantaire’s eye. So Grantaire speaks.

“What did you say back?” Grantaire is not looking at Marius, his eyes still on Enjolras. Jehan looks over at him, and he realizes that he hasn’t spoken at meetings in weeks, except to Eponine. Marius takes no notice.

“I think I introduced myself. I was hoping that she could come to one of the meetings.” Grantaire breaks eye contact, and speaks before Enjolras can interrupt.

“Bring her. The more the merrier, right?”

“Only if she has something to offer,” Enjolras interjects, and attention turns back to him.

“She shouldn’t have to offer anything to be welcome here.” Grantaire continues to sit, and Enjolras’ glare is enough to make him want to run. He hates the way his stomach is twisting.

“We still have meetings to run, plans to be made. We can’t have distractions.”

“Then why do you keep me around?” Grantaire asks. He’s just digging himself into a deeper hole. _What is he doing?_

“I don’t know.” Enjolras steels himself. Grantaire is reminded of that night. “You offer nothing.”

Grantaire closes his eyes. It stings. “Am I just a distraction to you?” He’s looking for a reaction. Enjolras continues to say nothing. “People shouldn’t have to be as righteous as you in order to belong.” Silence. “What’s the point of fighting if you’re not going to say anything?”

Enjolras takes a breath, and turns away from Grantaire. The room is filled with an uncomfortable silence. Grantaire raises his voice.

“Am I just a distraction to you?” Grantaire repeats, his voice raising. Enjolras’ fist is clenching and unclenching, and Grantaire can’t find it in himself to care. “Am I even worthy to sit here under your scrutiny? Is there any reason for me to be here?”  He can feel the room turning on him. And Enjolras still hasn’t said anything.

He turns away, and Grantaire can no longer see his face. He feels livid.

_“Will you fucking say something?”_

“Grantaire.” He looks over to find Combeferre on his feet, and he knows he’s gone too far. He looks over to Enjolras, and his back is to him. Grantaire wants to see his face. “Enough. There’s no reason for this.”

The room is quiet, and he can hear someone breathing heavily, and it takes a moment before he realizes it’s Enjolras. Grantaire wants to scream. He turns, and leaves.

It feels like last time. Enjolras doesn’t come after him.

&

This time, Grantaire doesn’t let Eponine drag him back. He doesn’t think about Enjolras. He accepts that he’s ruined something he couldn’t have had anyways. In his mind, he knew this was going to happen. He’s too irrational, too emotional. But for the life of him, he can’t stay away.

He hears talk about a protest.

He goes.

&

He goes by himself. He doesn’t search out the rest of his friends. _Can you still call them that?_ Now that he’s in the plaza, surrounded by people fighting a cause that he doesn’t believe in, Grantaire wonders why he made an effort to come. _You wanted to see him._

This isn’t the first protest he’s gone to. He’s been to several, mostly to hand the banners that he’s made with Bossuet, and knows how quickly one can transform into a riot. A shoe in the crowd or a hastily thrown insult was enough for it all to fall apart. And his friends know this. They’ve prepared for it.

Grantaire can see Enjolras from where he’s standing. He’s talking with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and he’s pointing at the police officers that are beginning to gather. He shakes his head, and Grantaire finds himself smiling. He knows how Enjolras draws his strength from crowds, and the knowledge that he’s fighting the system. Grantaire hates the opportunity that he’s given up.

The protest begins with Bahorel, a prelude, for Enjolras, who takes the stage with grace. He’s where he belongs. Grantaire wants to leave. And he would, if Enjolras hadn’t began to speak.

When Enjolras speaks, even after all the years of knowing him, it still floors Grantaire. Enjolras has always been eloquent, knowing exactly how to string his words together to get the best outcome. Grantaire is frozen in his spot, listening as Enjolras raises his voice, causing others to become empowered and fervid. He can’t help but begin to feel that same fire, but only a small flame. Enjolras brings that out in him.

Grantaire hears shouts behind him. He turns and sees police officers moving through the crow. Grantaire pushes forward, weaving through the mass of people, looking to see what is causing the commotion. He sees a ring of people, and knows a fight has broken out. He looks towards the stage, and sees Enjolras, frustrated but still cutthroat. He calls attention back to him, commanding that the crowd exercise caution.

The sounds of people shouting begins to increase, and Grantaire knows that protest is beginning to fail. The crowd begins to push and shove, eager to get away from where police officers are coming closer. He’s elbowed in the back, and is shoved to the right, and Grantaire would just like to get home.

There’s a gunshot heard through the crowd. Grantaire drops to the ground as a reflex, and he can hear screams around him, many coming from far in front of him. In the distance, he sees Joly and Bossuet disappear around the stage into an alleyway, and he can see people struggling to get out of the way. He looks desperately towards the stage where he can see Combeferre holding Enjolras up by the shoulders, blood appearing near his collarbone. It’s clear that Enjolras is in pain, his face scrunched and up and hyperventilating, but Combeferre pulls him away. Courfeyrac joins them, coming around to the other side of Enjolras, and they hurry to get him away from the protest.

And Grantaire is fucking seeing red.

He begins to push his way through people, taking several blows to the face in the madness of it all. He doesn’t run; he simply shoves people out of the way.

“s’ that for fucking caution- “a man is screaming and Grantaire knows it was him, and he rushes forward, colliding with the man and knocking both of them to the ground. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does the man underneath him. Both are stunned for a moment before Grantaire raises a fist, connecting it with the man’s jaws. He swears, his knuckles no longer used to the blows, but he punches again, and again, and again. The other man gets several punches in, one striking Grantaire’s nose. The man reaches up. He’s not a fighter, but he grabs Grantaire’s hair, yanking him off, and Grantaire hits the asphalt hard. The man doesn’t take the time; once Grantaire is off him, he runs, leaving Grantaire to get up, the left side of his face bloodied from the pavement. A tentative hand touches his shoulder, and Jehan is standing above him, and they grab onto Grantaire’s forearm before they both take off into a run.

“Holy fuck,” Jehan manages, and they let go of Grantaire’s arm to run ahead and make sure the door to their apartment is open. “C’mon.” Grantaire steps through the threshold, and his friends stand in front of them, several of them nursing wounds of their own.

Joly moves forward, holding Grantaire’s face gently for a moment before starting to help him as well. Grantaire doesn’t even try to push him away. He doesn’t deserve this.

“What the fuck,” Bahorel breathes, his eye blackened, “What the _fuck_?” Grantaire doesn’t respond, his face stinging in pain as Joly wipes of blood. “It was supposed to be peaceful.”

“Aren’t _all_ of our protests supposed to be peaceful?” Feuilly says. He’s holding out an ice pack to Bahorel, and when he doesn’t take it, holds it to the black eye himself.

“Dear lord Grantaire, what happened to you?” With the blood wiped clean, he’s able to see the bruises and cuts on his face. He looks down at his knuckles, and begins to wrap them himself. He ignores the question. He isn’t sure if he’s allowed to speak. He does anyways. _Impulsive as always._

“Where is he?” he asks simply, and Joly looks up at him.

“Not here. Hospital. There wasn’t anything here that could help him.” No one is saying his name, and now, no one is looking him in the eye. He knows he deserve it, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I beat up the guy who did it.” Grantaire flexes his fingers, the tape on his knuckles too tight but he makes no attempt to loosen it. “Guy packs a punch.”

People are quiet now. Grantaire sighs.

“If I’m not welcome anymore, I can leave.”

“Will you guys just fucking talk? You’re both being ridiculous,” Bahorel says, and Grantaire is grateful for his honesty.

“It’s not gonna matter anymore. I messed up.”

“Yes, but it can be fixed.” Grantaire is getting frustrated, so he steps closer to the door.

“But should it be fixed? Because Enjolras deserves so much better than me. I’m fucked up.” Jehan steps forward, and puts their hands on his shoulders.

“Look, I know you’re fucked up,” Jehan begins, and Grantaire looks away from him. They reach towards him and hold his chin so they’re looking each other in the eye. “We all are. We don’t disown someone just because they’re depressed, or if they do stupid things, or if they’re rude sometimes, because we all are at some point, do you understand?” Grantaire doesn’t respond. “We _help_ each other.”

“He doesn’t want me.”

“Have you actually spoken to him about it?” Grantaire shakes his head. “You two could be _so good_ for each other if you weren’t so emotionally stunted.” Grantaire scoffs. “You do deserve each other.”

“Why would he want me after what I’ve said to him?”

“What you say out of anger is not always what you actually think.” Grantaire looks away, and ignores the stinging in his eyes. Jehan uses their thumbs, and wipes under Grantaire’s eyes.

“He can still love you, despite fighting,” Jehan reassures, and they pause for a moment. “We still love you.” Grantaire sighs, but not sadly.

“Fucking talk to him,” Bahorel repeats, but this time, he punctuates his sentence with a smirk.

“I will,” he says simply, and Jehan and Joly sigh; for the first time in months, it’s done fondly.

The atmosphere in the room begins to feel lighter, and Grantaire can begin breathe again.

&

Enjolras isn’t in the hospital all night, and within several hours after the protest, he’s able to go home, the bullet from his shoulder removed and bandaged, and with a bottle of antibiotics. Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Enjolras all arrive at Jehan’s apartment at 9. Nobody wants to be alone tonight. They all agree to stay at the apartment – “Montparnasse is out tonight, so it’s all good.” No one wants to ask what Montparnasse is doing – and one of them puts on a movie, everyone crashing in the living room, many of them curled up together.

Everyone agrees to give Enjolras the Good Arm Chair, and Courfeyrac eyes it with light-hearted envy, but ends up laying at Enjolras’ feet. Grantaire keep to the other side of the room, a blanket around him, and he keeps his eyes closed. His face is beginning to bruise, and the soreness is setting in, but he feels lighter today than he has in a while. Apparently getting beaten up at a fucking protest was cathartic for him.

He can feel Enjolras’ eyes on him for most of the night.

They’re through the second movie; it’s nearly midnight, and Grantaire has been resting for a while now, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Blinking sleep from his eyes, Grantaire focuses on Enjolras in front of him. He nods his head to the side, looking towards the balcony, and walks over to it, expecting Grantaire to follow. Grantaire slowly makes his way over to him, weaving around his sleeping friends to open the balcony door. He remembers to be mindful of Enjolras’ shoulder.

The two of them are greeted by a gust of wind as they lean against the metal railing, the silence between them strained. Grantaire isn’t sure who should speak first, but as Enjolras is still staring out over the city, he begins.

“I should apologize – “

“For what?” Enjolras startles him. He hasn’t heard him speak so quietly before. He’s always been rough around the edges. Grantaire takes a deep breath.

“For yelling. For trying to get a reaction out of you. For bonding. I don’t know.” Grantaire rubs at his neck, and finds himself fidgeting again. Enjolras is silent as he moves his gaze back to the city, and Grantaire can see that his eyes are closed. “Why did you bring me out here if you’re not going to say anything?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I wanted to be near you.”

Grantaire looks over at him.

“Why?” Enjolras finally moves away from the railing to stand in front of Grantaire, and he feels anxious at the attention. He doesn’t understand what Enjolras wants. He knows what he wants; he wants to reach out and touch Enjolras, but he knows it’s not allowed. They’re closer than they have been in a while. Grantaire keeps his hands at his sides. He speaks to fill the silence.

“How are you feeling? Your shoulder- ” Grantaire nods his head towards his collarbone, and Enjolras looks at his wound.

“It stung earlier, but not it’s just sore.” Grantaire knows he’s downplaying it. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“Your face, and your knuckles,” Enjolras says, and it’s him that reaches out. He grabs Grantaire’s hand, and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. Grantaire holds his breath. Enjolras drops his hand, and holds Grantaire’s chin instead. He feels like he’s going to die. “You’re bruised.” Grantaire is hyper aware of all the places that Enjolras is touching him.

“Why are you doing this now?” Enjolras looks at him, and instead of being angry or confused, he just looks sad. He drops his hand.

“I’m tired of pulling away from you,” he says gently, and Grantaire doesn’t understand where this tenderness came from. “It’s just making me miserable. And it’s making you miserable too.”

“Enjolras- “

“You can’t just run away this time,” Enjolras says, and the firmness is back in his voice. “You always run away when you’re scared or when you don’t understand. You run, and where does that leave me? Courfeyrac told me that I should take your feelings into account. Will you please be mindful of mine?” Grantaire is frozen for a moment as he lets Enjolras’ words in before he nods. He’s standing so close.

“I don’t want to run away from you this time.”

“I don’t want you to either.”

“You were hurt today, and I still ran away,” Grantaire says, looking at his knuckles. Enjolras moves his hand to Grantaire’s cheek, and he doesn’t flinch away. “I ran away, I ran towards what hurt you, but didn’t run to _you_.” Enjolras’ face is expressionless. He’s expecting Grantaire to continue. He runs his thumb over a bruise on Grantaire’s cheek. He steps closer. “Why do I always run away?”

“It’s just what you do. It’s how you cope. But you can’t just leave me behind like I’m not part of this. I don’t want to be left behind.” Grantaire puts his hand over Enjolras’. “Don’t run away from me this time.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t.” Grantaire feels his heart beating in his chest. He can feel Enjolras’ breath on his lips.

“Love me.”

“ _I will._ ”

“You promise?”

Grantaire nods, and Enjolras closes the space between them, pressing his lips to Grantaire’s softly, sleepily, but it feels right. Grantaire returns it, and he opens his mouth, giving Enjolras more. They move slowly against each other, breathing the other in in the pauses they take. Grantaire’s face is flushed, Enjolras’ a shade of pink, and both of them are warm. In his kiss, Grantaire understands why he ran, but now he has a reason not to.

&

They slowly learn how to work together.

It’s awkward, and it’s slow, but it works. The imprint caused by months of tension doesn’t go away, because the impression it leaves behind is one that is too important not to learn from.

Grantaire doesn’t run. For once, he stays. And he doesn’t feel selfish about it.

“You are worth everything.”

“You deserve everything.”

“We deserve each other.”

The butterflies in his stomach never go away. Grantaire doesn’t want them too. Enjolras welcomes the feeling. They no longer look at their tattoos as a mark of something that could have been, but something they need. And when they’re curled next to each other, the words are traced gently with warm fingers, the intensity and anger behind them now faded.

“Love me,” Enjolras says, on one of the colder days of the season. He’s practically laying on top of Grantaire, blankets pulled around him, and he’s looking at Grantaire like he’s seeing the sun for the first time. Grantaire wants to see that expression every day.

“I do,” he says, and kisses him, and _it is how love should be._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at @jecroisentoii on tumblr.


End file.
